Hope You Found It Now
by Genstarsmallpot92
Summary: Post 2x08. Matthew lets out a shuddering breath, knows this exhaustion. But here in this moment, he feels all can be overcome.


**A/N: So this is the my first fic in a while, and it feels pretty ausome to write again seeing as College is kicking my ass.**

**So I hope you enjoy :0)**

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He didn't exactly know where his feet were taking him.

All Matthew new was that he had to get out of the stiffing atmosphere and restlessness that ate at him while he sat in his own unease at Crawley House.

It had been seven months since Lavinia's untimely death, and he had been punishing himself greatly, wallowing and withdrawn and angry.

However despite all this, he would be lying if his every frequent vigils to her grave were somehow slowly but surly lifting some of the weight and guilt off his shoulders, something he was certain would never happen, having placed it on himself, and had berated himself at this realization.

Time, it seemed had given him a great deal to think about, a few months ago he would have willed himself not to dwell on his thoughts, but now it seemed he couldn't keep out the onslaught of his minds wandering, and now he welcomed them, there was nothing else for it.

_Lavinia. Mary…Mary._

Oh, he's been a fool.

He stops upon reaching her grave once more, the day bright and brisk; and there are seemingly new flowers layed out before her gravestone .

Curiously he leans down slowly, careful of his back, and expects the note.

_Mary._

He can't stop the way his heart lurches painfully as he takes in her elegant script and rises back to his full height ,and he's reminded with perfect clarity the words in which he spoke to her, in this very place.

He regretted his words spoken out of grief and dashed hopes.

He steals himself from this sudden train of thought, realizing where he is and speaks lowly to her grave, but his words are few, finding no other way to say that he's sorry, and suddenly somehow it feels like a farewell, the final one.

The brisk air gathers slightly enough to ruffle the bunch of flowers, one falling of it's stem to the ground, the air pushing it forward gently onto the leather of his shoe.

_Be Happy._

It feels like it's some sort of sign.

And for the first time in a long time, he actually feels the possibility of this, and his eyes grow glassy at this internal confession.

He steps forward, letting his hand linger for a moment on the cool stone, then bends and picks up the small purple flower, tucking it carefully into the inside of his jacket pocket.

And like all things worth having this one will stay close to his heart.

**ii**

He feels renewed, new somehow and there is a new lightness in his step.

And not just because he no longer has any need for his stick.

His feet are leading him again, but this time he knows exactly where he's going.

Matthew sees the estate before he's even on the grounds, what once seemed tall and imposing is now most welcome, despite how much heartache and uncertainty he had experienced here.

The November air is chilly despite the overhead sun casting over the Abbey.

And it's not a surprise that nobody's on the grounds.

Well, accept one that is.

Matthew falters abruptly upon seeing Mary frequenting the bench underneath the great beech tree, and he's reminded of a simpler time, albeit a far off time.

He watches her as he continues to walk, what with her not having not noticed him yet, but even from here he can tell that she's not actually reading but rather staring blankly at the page while the air whips up the pages of her book.

He silently curses the ground as he makes his way off the path and onto the grass, each footfall crunching slightly underneath him.

He keeps his eyes on her while her head raises slightly and suddenly she's up in an instant upon seeing him, her book falling carelessly to the ground, forgotten.

He hadn't meant to startle her and berates himself for not announcing himself sooner.

He stares at her for a split second as she wrings her hands in front of her, he eyes the book on the ground and moves to pick it up, and suddenly he's very aware of her hand placed on his arm.

"Matthew! What about your stick?"

Matthew can't help the way his lips upturn slightly at the panic evident in her voice.

He lifts his head up from where his eyes roved over the hand on his arm, and Mary quickly retracts her hand slowly as Matthew bends and retrieves the book as if to prove a point, speaking as he does so.

" I have no need for it anymore, it seems."

_You are my stick._

When he straightens he see's the small genuine smile on her face, he's glad of it.

"That's wonderful, Matthew."

He allows himself to smile and hands her over the book, fingers barely brushing past each other.

"Still reading the same old book then?", Matthew comments lightly as he sits down, and gestures for her to do the same.

She sits down lightly, chances a glance at him.

"Some things never change." her voice comes out low, quiet.

And Matthew looks at her, really looks at her, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes focusing on the grounds before her, and he can see the set of her jaw, her morose eyes. He licks his lips slightly and looks out before him as well, his heart starting to ache slightly at the sight of her.

It's as if she doesn't know how to be with him now, and he hates himself for it.

"How are you?", his question comes out loaded, his voice soft.

Mary breaths in, and feigns a smile. "Miserable."

Matthew lets out a breathy chuckle, "Me too. (his throat bobs slightly)So am I to call you , now?"

Mary turns her head around to look at him properly, and her eyes are glassy, moist, and his heart pangs at the sight.

"I couldn't marry Richard."

Matthew balks, his mouth open. "I-"

"You and I both know why I couldn't. In the long run I knew I couldn't settle for a loveless marriage, and I couldn't, I couldn't have you…it's better this way."

Matthew can't take it any longer and blindly reaches out to grasp her gloved hand atop her lap, her eyes closing at the contact, can't help but interlace her fingers through his, she can always have this.

"Oh, Matthew.", She's tired, plain tired, for his heart. But he's here and he's grasping her hand, and is close so close, their sides touching.

And she drops her head onto his shoulder, keeping her eyes tight to stop the threat of tears behind her lids, his cheek pressed upon her head.

Matthew lets out a shuddering breath, knows this exhaustion. But here in this moment, he feels all can be overcome.

And he knows, she feels it too.

He leans down to lay a kiss upon her forehead, lingers there, moves his lips down to the apple of her cheek, kisses away the tears that could not be kept in, Mary's eyes slowly open and she gasps because he has that expression again- the way his eyes take in her face from her eyes to her lips, and back up. Right before he kissed her-

He leans in, and she thinks that he's going to do so again. But he merely presses his forehead against hers, his hands coming up to hold her face.

This is there chance, _there last chance._

Mary grips his wrists, her thumbs rubbing gently along the skin. She feels his shudder, and she trembles with him.

He expels a breath, but his voice is light, hopeful.

"Mary…how do you feel about a Christmas wedding?".

Mary kisses him then as if to answer him, and he can feel the tremulous smile softly underneath his own.

They won't stop.

It's been too long now.

And he won't let go.

_**End**_


End file.
